


Last Words

by TessaTheDreamer



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown Day 2, Dark Character, Gen, Role Reversal, Violent Thoughts, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TessaTheDreamer/pseuds/TessaTheDreamer
Summary: Baz Pitch is the Chosen One. Simon is his enemy. His mission from the Mage is to kill Baz and take the Mages world back.(story is a bit dark, and there is mention of the possibility of killing a main character)
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow
Kudos: 4
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2019





	Last Words

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 2019 Carry On Countdown.  
> Enjoy!

**Simon**

Two days. Two days until I confront Pitch and rid the Mages' world of this disease  everyone calls the Chosen One. Who even chose him? Not The Mage, for sure, and  he’s supposed to be the one in control of our world.

I sit  on my bed, looking out the window onto the school grounds. Baz Pitch is walking  through the field from his football training, sweaty yet still somehow  perfect-looking. He wipes his face with his shirt, showing off his perfectly  sculpted muscles. His stride is confident, the legs in his muscles defined, moving with every step. I feel sick to the stomach just looking at him. His thick,  black hair managed to stay put. If he wasn’t a bloody awful mage, I’d guess he  magicked it. Must have been one of his minions who’ve done it.

I  observe him until he disappears from my view, which means I have  roughly 5 minutes before he walks through the door.

I tidy  up the sketches of schemes and observations scattered around me, stuffing them in a box spelled shut. I push it under my bed. Before sitting back down, I brush off the crumbs from the sour cherry scones I had earlier. I open  up the book on 18th century French spells and wait.

He steps through the door, loudly and with no regard for me, as always. The smell  of fresh grass and sweat wafts through the room. His boots clang against the  wooden floor as he makes his way to the bathroom. As our unspoken agreement  declares, he doesn’t acknowledge my existence, bar the icy stare from the  corner of his eye. The door to the bathroom closes behind him. I let my  shoulders loosen up. 

When I  hear the shower start, I put my book down, grab my wand and head out to meet  Penny.

Penelope Bunce is the world’s greatest Mage. After  _ the Mage _ , of course. She’s mastered even the most complex spells.

“Why didn’t he choose you for this mission?” I asked her ome day after I came back from my meeting with the Mage, “You’re clearly more qualified to kill someone than I am.”

“Everyone’s qualified to kill Pitch. He couldn’t defend himself against a fly if he tried,” she said, levitating a rat with her ring, “And you’re his roommate. You have intel on him, you can kill him while he’s asleep. Or in the shower.”

“I can’t. Anathema.”

“Bloody Anathema, can’t let us do anything fun.” 

Penny's been the number one planner for the destruction of Pitch. She's even more passionate about it than the Mage.

I meet Penny by the entrance to the Catacombs. She spends most of her free time there. When I asked her why, she just shrugged. 

We sit until dinner, polishing our plans for the Chosen One’s destruction. She rattles off spell after spell I can use. We go over the plan again and again. We write the fake letter. Then write it again. 

"I don't know what I'd do without you," I say as we head off to dinner.

Penny laughs. 

"Keep the sappy speech for the celebration," she says, squeezing my shoulder. 

On the day of The Destruction of Pitch I wake with a sucking feeling in my stomach - excitement mixed with hunger. I throw up before breakfast. And after. Penny finds a spell to ease my stomach, but there’s no spell to fix the racing of the mind.

I restlessly sit in class, eyeing Pitch as he scribbles in his notebooks and practices incantations he’s too weak to use. All are useless to him now anyway. The dead don’t speak, after all.

He doesn’t arrive to his last meal – tea, which, coincidentally, is my favourite meal of the day. This time, though, I can’t bring myself to take a single bite of a sour cherry scone. Penny shoots me a worried look, but I ignore her. Agatha squeezes my hand. She doesn't know what's about to happen. I don't want her worried. She's supposed to be there by my side, smiling and pretty, as I win the war and become the hero. 

She can see my mind is occupied, though. My thoughts are overridden with Basilton Pitch in front of me, that snarl he wears on his face when he plays football or fights beasts. I imagine gripping his shirt in my fist and casting spell after spell after spell, until the light disappears from his deep, grey eyes.

It’s dark when Pitch arrives to the place of battle. It's at the edge of the Woods. As far away from any buildings as I could find. 

I planted a letter from my girlfriend, Agatha, telling him she needed to talk to him. I see the way he looks at us when we’re together. He’s always wanted to get with Agatha and that was the chance to use that against him.

He’s clutching his wand in his pale, slim hands. He has musician's hands, perfect for playing the piano or the violin. Pity they’ll go to waste.

I don’t hide as he arrives. He’s outnumbered, not by the amount of people, but by skill. I’m holding onto my wand, a dozen incantations on the tip of my tongue. A thirst for destruction. A sword hangs at my hip, just in case. It gives me the feeling of being in some epic tale. This is the hero’s victory.

“Snow.” He notices me in the dark. He's always seemed to be better at seeing in the dark than I am. Peculiar.

“Pitch.” I smile, baring my teeth. I have always found it weird that while other animals bear teeth in aggression, humans do it to show happiness.

“What do you want from me?” he asks, looking around, as if searching for something... or someone.

“You know very well what I want from you,” I say, trying to sound as menacing as I can. I like to be dramatic.

“Wanna try to steal my voice again? Or feed me to a chimera? Or push me down a flight of stairs?” he laughs, “if it’s the latter, I’d argue this is a bad choice of scenery.” He looks around at the woods and plains around us. The Watford buildings are far, so nobody comes running at the sound of screaming.

“I’m ready to up my game, are you?” I ask.

“Snow,” he says, out of the blue.

“Are you scared?”

“Snow, I-” he says, then grunts, sounding quite annoyed at me... or himself. I’m quite confused.

“What? Worried I’ll defeat you? Scared of-”

“Snow,” he interrupts me and sighs, “I need to tell you something.”

That was never in my plans. He was never supposed to say that. I improvise.

“Your last words?” I laugh, “Sure, I’ll listen to your pathetic whining one last time. I might even miss it.” 

I was not supposed to say that.

I wait for him to speak, but silence fills the air between us. He takes a couple steps forward and opens his mouth. He closes it again, as if resigned to his fate.

I roll my eyes. “Alight, if you don’t want to say anything, then I’ll just start the duel-” 

“I- I know what happened to your mother!”


End file.
